Being that my first 3 kids were born c-section, with #4, it was scheduled from the beginning. I must admit, it was nice knowing that no matter what happened, by April 22nd, I wouldn't be pregnant anymore.
Not that anyone even wants to know these details, but for my own sake, and for my kids, here's the story:
On Monday evening, my mother flew in from Boise, just 13 hours before the surgery was scheduled. We woke up the next morning, showered, fed the kids breakfast, and left for the hospital. I really felt gigantic this time around. I mean huge. People started asking me how many more days when I still had 7 weeks left. I had been pretty uncomfortable for the last two months and I was oh so very ready for a c-section. I wasn't nervous at all...although this was going to be my 4th hospital, in my 4th state, with my 4th doctor, and while procedures do vary a little from hospital to hospital, the basics were the same. I told the nurses I was a tough stick (they poked me 7 or 8 times before they got a good line in when I had Niels) and I was determined that wouldn't happen again. And, gratefully, one poke was all it took. That alone alleviated any worries I may have had. They got me all prepped for surgery, and then we waited an hour. What the hold up was, I don't know, but I was just antsy to get started.
Finally I was whisked away to the OR. Anesthesiologist gave me the spinal, I laid down, and the nurses took over, attaching monitors all over. Paul eventually came in, and once they verified that I was completely numb, it all started. The anesthesiologist told me that if I didn't feel well to tell him, since I would feel a change in blood pressure faster than his monitors could tell him. At one point I had a moment of dizziness and difficulty breathing...so I told the anesthesiologist, he gave me some drugs to my IV, and in a few minutes I felt like normal. The wonders of medicine :)
Every time I've done this, I'm surprised how long it takes to actually get the baby out. For some reason I think it should be instant...and I suppose in emergent cases, they are able to go in very fast. But as long as mother and baby are okay, the doctors take their time. Which is good. They carefully cut through all fascia, clear up adhesions, and do their thing, taking their time to be careful. So about 15 minutes after starting, they were ready to take out the baby. Quickly, the baby's left hand shot out! I guess he was done with this pregnancy too! They pushed it back in, but he kept trying to punch his way out. Sadly, he was transverse, or sideways in my tummy, so they had to push and pull and twist a lot more than they normally do. In the past, I have felt the doctors pulling on me a bit, and have felt a lot of "pressure" as they pull the baby out, but nothing terribly painful or memorable. This time, I felt like I was being pulled right and left and jostled all over the table while they tried to pull him out. It felt like a full 3 or 4 minutes that they battled with the baby before he finally turned head down and came out. I felt like I had been beat up a bit...they had to cut my uterus a little more in order to flip him and help him out. But alas, he came. He had a bit of trouble breathing at first, but all was quickly normal. Born at 11:09 am, he weighed 8 pounds 10.8 ounces and was 21 inches long.
Paul and the baby sat with me a bit while the doctors started to clean me up. Again, this part always takes longer than I remember. I timed it this time and it took 50 minutes from when he was born to when they wheeled me out of the OR. Again, I'm glad that doctors take their time and don't hurry things along. Take all the time you need in stitching me up!
On the way to the hospital on Tuesday morning, I said to Paul, "I guess I'm not totally against Anders. I still think it's a great name (we had considered it for Niels) but I don't love how it sounds with Iverson." I went on to mention a handful of other names we had discussed that I wasn't wholly against.
So fast-forward to Wednesday afternoon when Paul came to visit me and the baby after work. He said, "You know, I think I like Anders more than anything." Funny thing was, I was going to say the same thing. All day on Wednesday while I was alone with the baby, I tried calling him Erik and Dane. And I just wasn't feeling it. And for some reason, Anders fit. I can't really explain it. It wasn't really an overwhelming feeling...just that we liked Anders...it seemed to have a bit more personality to it. So despite the fact that I still don't love the sound of Anders Iverson, we started to call him that. We called him that for about a week before I finally called the name registry office to make it official. Sometimes I still have moments where I ask myself, "Did I really just name my son Anders? Are people going to think we are weird-os who have to have crazy creative names? Will he like his name as he grows up?" And it seems that most peoples' reaction is either something along the lines of "That is an awesome name!" or a simple, polite, "Oh," with a half grin.